Rules of Engagement
by murron1
Summary: SLASH From Will's POV, what should have happened in Tortuga (slight stray from canon XD)
1. Default Chapter

Title: Rules of Engagement  
  
Pairing: Jack/Will  
  
Archive: Sure, if you want. Just give me a heads-up.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue. I love you, Walt.  
  
Summary: My concept of what could have (read: should have XD) happened in Tortuga. From Will's POV.  
  
Author's Note: Okay, I know the whole angst-from-Will's-point-of-view thing has been done to death, but I had to throw my two cents in anyway. I also know this doesn't follow movie canon particularly closely, but meh...  
  
Feedback: Karma will get you if you read and don't review! ... kidding, but I would like to know what you think. **********  
  
"Tortuga, land of a thousand sins." Jack motioned widely towards the cluster of buildings in the twilight ahead of us, prancing down the dock. Prancing, for god's sake.  
  
I stepped down onto the rough boards. My legs had finally gotten used to the constant movement of the ship, and now back on something solid, I felt like my shoes were made of lead. The lack of motion was not all that made me feel this way, though.  
  
Allow me to let you in on a little secret. My time with Jack Sparrow on the Interceptor was a learning experience for me. I learned how to sail a ship. I learned how to watch another person without their knowledge. And through this watching, I learned that Elizabeth Swann will have to wait. Why, you ask? I'm sure you've already got it. If you had been on alone with him for those days, you would be half in love with him, too.  
  
Not that he did anything to encourage this infatuation. He was just himself, teasing and oddly endearing. And drunk.  
  
No, we couldn't forget the rum, could we?  
  
And now that we are off the ship, I don't have him to myself anymore. Not that I really had him on the ship, but at least I could adore him in peace.  
  
He turns. I guess he has noticed my lack of enthusiasm for Tortuga.  
  
He dances back to where I am standing and throws an arm around my shoulders.  
  
"Come on, Will. Drinks," his eyes light up, "dice, beautiful women as far as the eye can see!" Great.  
  
"Or beautiful men, if you so prefer."  
  
Fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He's on to me. My face begins to burn and my head spins. What the hell am I going to do now.  
  
Deny, that's what. Deny, deny, deny.  
  
But then he punches me on the arm and laughs. He's joking. Thank you god. I manage to paste on a grin to show him that I agree. Ha ha, very funny, me liking boys! What a riot! I catch my breath.  
  
"Let's go!" He is practically beaming with delight. He catches my elbow and gives me a tug down the dock, babbling something about old friends and inns. His hundred hanging attachments clink merrily as we walk.  
  
As we head towards the town, the rowdiness of the place becomes apparent. It's all shouts and yells and songs. Jack weaves the two of us through throngs of people, obviously knowing exactly where he is headed in the narrow streets.  
  
Every few feet someone who knows him slaps him on the back, and he flashes a gold-toothed grin at every turn. He stops suddenly in front of a seedy-looking building, suddenly enough to cause me to bump him from behind.  
  
"Sorry." I stammer, but he doesn't even notice.  
  
"I was afraid the old place would be gone, but 'ere it is!" He says, more to himself then to me.  
  
The sign is directly above us, and I have to crane my neck back and to the right to read it.  
  
"The Shamrock?"  
  
"Yes!" He offers no more, and the significance is lost on me. I am left to follow as he vaults up the steps and throws open the heavy-looking wooden door, much battered with the brands of countless swords and knives from fights past. The inside is large and warm, smoky and bustling. Crowds of men and women alike crowd around tables, hard at games and general merry-making. No one gives looks our way.  
  
I stick close to Jack as we head towards the long, high bar against the far wall. The bartender is a stout, red man with tufty black hair on his round head. His back is turned towards us. Jack props his elbows on the counter and clears his throat loudly, and the barman turns, his eyes lighting up as he catches sight of the pirate in front of him.  
  
"Mary mother o' jaysus, " he says, the Irish lilt in his voice shining through, "the Sparrow has flown back in! We were beginning to think you were in stocks. Or with the great Lucifer in hell." He and Jack shake hands and I am ignored.  
  
"Far from it." Jack winks at him. "And we," he cocks his head towards me, "will be requirin' somewhere to lay our heads on this fine evenin'".  
  
"Och, sorry, I've only one room left upstairs. All these bloody people, been here for days, do nothing but cause trouble, I should throw them out on their fat ars-"  
  
"No worries, Pat. If you've only one room then one room will have to do."  
  
Goody.  
  
The barman hands over a key on a strand of greasy-looking twine.  
  
"Number six, and don't be losin' it this time. I know you. Once you've got a pint in you, things get lost."  
  
Jack smiles wickedly at him and shrugs, turning to me and holding up the key. I bow my head so he can loop it around my neck.  
  
"You can trust this one, Pat. Straight as an arrow, 'e is."  
  
I blush.  
  
"Good." Pat looks at me, sizing me up I suppose. He nods finally, and turns back to Jack. "Now, we must get caught up on your doings. What of the Pearl?"  
  
"Ah, but sir," a very rare serious look crosses Jack's face, "before beginning we must have something to quench our horrible thirst, savvy?"  
  
"On the house, of course?". Pat asks. It seems he knows Jack well. "I wouldn't have it any other way." Jack smiles and hops onto one of the high stools that line the bar and I follow suit.  
  
Pat draws up two mugs of something from a keg and hands them over to Jack.  
  
"What'll you be drinkin' then, Will?". There is a half-smile on Jack's face as he looks at me, a pint in each hand.  
  
I try to think of something even mildly witty to say in return. Nothing springs to mind. I glare instead.  
  
"Oh, Will, I'll make you smile yet tonight." He stuffs one mug into my hand and turns again to Pat.  
  
"Now, Pat, you wish to know of the Pearl? Well." he goes on to weave incredible, scary, often lewd stories with his mouth and his hands and his eyes. I listen a bit, but mostly watch.  
  
An hour passes, and in that time Jack develops an audience, who ooh and aah at his tales. The men laugh and slap their legs. The women swoon melodramatically. Jack loves it. He is shining in his moment in the spotlight. I notice that he has gone through drinks galore, and yet has never had to pay for one himself. There is always someone willing to pick up the tab for him. Clever, clever.  
  
Jack is invited to one of the tables to play some game involving dice or cards or something, and he accepts without a second thought. He gets up and when I don't follow, he leans in close to me, his hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Are you not coming?"  
  
"No, I think I'll just stay here."  
  
"You haven't said a word all night. Stop thinking of your bonny lass and have some fun. This is Tortuga!"  
  
I am tempted to tell him that I had not been thinking of Elizabeth, but that, in fact, I had just finished contemplating how the droplets of sweat that had appeared on his upper lip would taste. But I restrain myself.  
  
He shrugs, giving me up for a lost cause, and goes to carouse with the fine patrons of the Shamrock, leaving me alone at the bar. I watch him flit from table to table, laughs and chatter following him everywhere he goes. I try to strike up a conversation with a stray woman who comes up to the bar, but she just giggles and hides her mouth in her hand. Her friends give her a commiserating look. Beautiful. Jack propositions women and he gets slapped, but after he has moved on they always look secretly pleased. I do it and *she* gets a pitying look from her friends. Maybe they can see that my heart is not truly in it..  
  
I tire of this stupid game, and decide to find the room that Jack and I are to share.  
  
The stairs leading to the inn part of the building are dark and there are countless pairs of people doing unmentionable things to stumble over. I stumble around in the hallway, which is about as well lit as the stairs, until I come across number six, our room. The key grates in the lock, but the door does open, on creaky hinges. It's tiny, and the one four-poster bed takes up most of the space. The window lets in the bright moonlight, and there are no curtains to close out the light. I pull off my boots and stretch out on the mattress fully clothed. I listen to the night-sounds of the rowdy island and doze off and on, facing the door.  
  
It's hours later when Jack finally makes it to the room. He lets his eyes adjust to the moonlight for a minute, and, seeing me, he seems assured that he has found the right room. I pretend to sleep, and watch him through barely-open eyes. He tugs off his belt, complete with scabard and holster and purses, and sets it carefully on the floor. He hangs his hat on one poster of the bed, tugs his shirt over his head and dumps it on the floor, and kicks off his boots. This leaves him dressed in only his tight leather breeches.  
  
He climbs into bed beside me and unceremoniously flops onto his back with a grunt, stretched out to his full length with his hands behind his head. In a minute, his breathing has evened out and he is sleeping like a babe. I am not though.  
  
I try to sleep, I really do, but it won't come with him so close beside me. The skin of his rising and falling chest is smooth and tanned and my fingertips are itching to touch it.  
  
I finally raise a hand above his chest and lower it, no contact but close enough to feel the heat exchange between his skin and mine. I hold this postion for a minute and then screw up my courage. Holding my breath, I slowly lay my palm flat against his chest.  
  
He doesn't move.  
  
I enjoy my stolen moment, running my fingers along his ribs, tracing old scars. He purrs in his sleep, twisting a little, and suddenly I want him awake. Now! I tense my fingers into claws and scrape my nails along the sharp line of his collarbone, leaving a set of red lines, a few tiny droplets of blood rising to the surface of his skin.  
  
"Umph!" His eyes are open and with the speed of a cat he has my hand clenched painfully in his. I can feel the bones grinding inside. I yelp, and he blinks a few times quickly and lets go of me. I flex it painfully.  
  
"Why am I awake, Will?" His sleepiness is obvious in his slurred voice, his half lidded eyes.  
  
I say nothing, laying my hand flat against his taut stomach. A strange laugh escapes him.  
  
"Will, that one glass of ale that you had must have gone to your head."  
  
"Ah yes, that must be it." My hand slides higher, stopping when I can feel his heart beating against his ribs. It flutters as fast as mine.  
  
He pushes my hand away and props himself up on one elbow, facing me.  
  
"There be rules for this type of thing among pirates. You know that, do you not?" His is undoing the buttons on my shirt with one hand, opening it to expose my chest.  
  
I shake my head. In truth, I really don't care right now as his rough fingers scratch against the soft skin of my chest.  
  
"Rules." He nods to reiterate, and with lightning speed his lips are on mine and I can taste the rum from his mouth.  
  
When he finally breaks the kiss I am gasping and he is smiling.  
  
"I saw you watching me on the ship, the Interceptor. You thought you were hidden, but I knew you were there. And I know what you wanted." His hand lays gently across the bulge in my trousers, and I am so light-headed I can't think of one one intelligible thing to say. I shut my eyes and tilt my head back.  
  
I feel him move beside me, and suddenly I am free and his mouth is on me. I try to be strong and hold out, but his sucking and tugging becomes too much for me and I give in almost instantly with a gush that leaves every muscle in my body singing with tension.  
  
As the dizziness leaves me, Jack is once again propped on an elbow at my side, watching my recovery with a half-grin on his face.  
  
"So, have you figured them out yet?"  
  
I swallow hard and try to regain my ability to think and speak. What the hell is he on about?  
  
"The rules." He must have seen my look of confusion. I shake my head slowly.  
  
He leans into me. His face is so close to mine that I think he is going to kiss me again. I raise my chin up to him, but he just turns and smiles, moving so that the tip of his nose touches the top of my ear.  
  
"I own you", he purrs, his tickling breath sending a shiver through my body.  
  
My eyes widen as I look at him, and my mouth opens, but there is nothing I can say because it is true and I cannot deny it.  
  
Dammit.  
  
But as he settles onto his side beside me, his arm protectively across my chest, a thought begins to form in my head. The way his forehead is nuzzled against my shoulder, the way his body is molded against mine, makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I own him too.  
  
This makes me smile as I drift off to sleep.  
  
THE END 


	2. II

Title: Rules of Engagement Part II Author: Murron Rating : ~R Disclaimer : I don't own them, but in a perfect world I would *pouts* Summary: Just a continuation, but this time Will is in charge Warning : Umm.a little bit of Bondage, I suppose. And some Jack stabbing *dodges glares* Don't worry, I didn't hurt him. *cough* much. Author's notes: Ok, I'm drinking this orange-peach-mango concoction and it's gone to my head. Sorry. This came about because I have been getting a lot of flak for never finishing a story (or leaving them open-ended anyway XD), and also because I found an irresistible bunny with the gist of it being that Will has to be a tickling dominatrix. And I kind of included a little bit of my own take on Jack. I have this theory that he's a bit of a control freak, and wouldn't enjoy being subordinate. Maybe I read too much into things. Woot, I'm rambling. It's late. I'm also sorry about the rip- off sex-scene at the end. I haven't the patience to put good detailing into anything tonight. I want to get this one out of my life.  
  
***************  
  
The first hints of dawn are beginning to seep through the window when I open my eyes. I am sprawled on my back, the warm form of Jack beside me. He is half on his side, snoring softly. The bits of us that are touching are sticky with exchanged heat. The first throbs of a headache pulse behind my eyes as I try to remember what happened last night.  
  
Ah yes. A half-smile surfaces on my lips.  
  
Wait. Something about what he said bothers me in the early morning semi- darkness..  
  
He owns me? *Owns* me? Who does he think he is?  
  
I prop myself up on one elbow, pulling away from him. The grogginess of sleep begins to clear from my head as I watch him sleep. Like a baby, he is. His nose twitches when he inhales. His eyelashes are sooty against his face, and his the angled bone of his cheeks make small, dusky, inviting hollows. A tangled lock of hair lies across his forehead, and I reach to brush it away before hurriedly pulling back my hand in disgust for myself.  
  
Idiot.  
  
Swooning like a little girl for a.a.a silly pirate! Simpering at every little thing he says. Giving into all his whims.  
  
Well, no more! I'll show him.  
  
Now the question is of how. I sit up on the edge of the bed, my feet swinging as I think. Jack's jumbled pile of clothes and junk, on the floor in front of me, catches my eye. I glance back over my shoulder; Jack's arms are bent at the elbows, his hands up around his head. I chew on my lip and stare into space for a minute. The first real grin of the day emerges on my face.  
  
On my knees on the rough boards of the floor, I try to quietly rummage through Jack's heap. The light from the window is still too feeble to reach into the long shadow of the bed, so I am left fumbling with my fingertips, slowly to avoid making noise.  
  
"Shite" I hiss into the darkness. I lift my hand close to my eye, watching a drop of blood well up on the tip of my middle finger. Well, at least I know where his dagger is. I watch as the droplet falls onto the floor, shining black against the graininess of the wood. I stuff the finger into my mouth and continue looking, this time with a little more caution.  
  
My fingers finally locate what I am looking for. I fiddle for a minute and then finally have it free. I head back to the bed with the length of rope which Jack keeps tied to his belt. It is old and oily, frayed at both ends, but it will do nicely.  
  
He hasn't moved.  
  
I make a slipknot in each end of the rope, and spend a few tense moments hooking them around his hands without waking him up. I squint with concentration as I do this, eyes slit, tongue playing at the corner of my mouth. That accomplished, I loop the middle section around one bedpost, and stand back to admire my handiwork. Not pretty, but it will do.  
  
I settle onto the floor a few feet away from the bed, elbows balanced on my knees, chin cupped in my hands, watching and waiting.  
  
For the longest time he moves not an inch, still snoring quietly. I doze off and jerk awake, doze off and jerk awake. The room slowly fills with early morning sunshine.  
  
Finally he moves one arm in his sleep, jerking the post of the bed, which squeaks distressedly. He inhales with a hiss and raises himself up as much as he can in the current situation. He glances around the room dazedly, and looks at me, eyes unfocused.  
  
"Will, why am I attached to the bed?"  
  
"I was thinking about what you said to me last night." I am on my feet, walking slowly towards the bed, trying to maintain eye contact. "About you owning me."  
  
His face is blank, his eyes dark and unreadable, as I sit down on the edge of the bed.  
  
"I want to show you that it works both ways."  
  
"Let me go. Now." There is barely suppressed rage in his voice, and his face is tight. He isn't liking this.  
  
"No." I gently place one hand on his bare stomach, and his entire body goes rigid. His bound hands clench and the cords stand out in his arms. A look of panic flows over his face, or maybe I just imagine that it does.  
  
He grapples with himself and wins, as his muscles loosen again. His hands hang lax against their bindings and he looks at me levelly, daring me to do more.  
  
I lower my head to his chest, keeping my eyes on his. The tip of my nose almost touches the hollow where his lowest ribs fuse together. I inhale. His skin smells of salt and the sun, sweat and something sweet like oranges. My head is swimming as I straighten back up, but Jack is unaffected.  
  
Worse than that. He looks positively bored. His lack of expression is beginning to unnerve me, and a rosy glow creeps into my face. I try to cover it with a confident laugh that comes out as a pained squeak.  
  
"I'll make you move yet." A barely imperceptible shake of his head. This is beginning to irritate me. I catch the nub of his nipple between my finger and thumb and slowly increase the pressure. A twitch, a tiny tic, in his left cheek but nothing else. I know that if our positions were changed, if I were him and he was me, I would be pleading for mercy. Still nothing. I let go, feeling generally rejected. I can't keep my eyes in his any more, and I stare at his chest, rising and falling.  
  
Why can't he just let me win, give me something? I am suddenly filled with a raging anger. My temper slips from my grasp and I turn and swoop up his dagger from the floor, brandishing it at shoulder height.  
  
"Maybe this is all you understand." His eyes follow its glinting blade as I lower the tip to his stomach. I don't press hard, just let the weight of the dagger do its job as I trace a faint pink line across him. He follows the blade with his eyes, but looks disinterested even as I begin to push harder and draw a thin line of blood, a diagonal red slash below the line of his ribs.  
  
I pull my hand away slowly, amazed that I had actually had the gall to draw blood. The very tip of the blade is dulled with red, and I watch a droplet slowly slide down his skin, under him and out of sight.  
  
My eyes widen as I glance down at him, and his are oily black, staring back at me. He blinks evenly and I give up. I'll have to untie him sometime, and now I am afraid of what he'll do to me when I do.  
  
I toss the dagger down to the floor. It skates across the rough boards and clatters against the wall.  
  
"Fine, you win." As I reach over him to unhook the rope from around the bedpost, my fingertips brush against his chest, and a surprised rush of air escapes him as he sucks in his stomach.  
  
I withdraw my hand, cocking my head to one side. Could it be that he is ticklish?  
  
I splay my hand against his side and flex, digging my fingertips into his ribs. He is laughing now, writhing away from me.  
  
A smile breaks out on my face as I gleefully torment him. His breathing comes in hitches and gasps and interminable babbling noises. Tears begin to seep from the corners of his eyes, which are clamped shut, and the bed groans as he jounces against the rope.  
  
"Stop!" He finally manages to gasp out an understandable word, and I do. I got what I wanted.  
  
He catches his breath, and I realize that my heart is pounding in my ears. I lean to press my lips against his, a complete reverse of our first kiss. I can still taste the rum in his mouth. I stop to catch my breath and sit up.  
  
"That was what you wanted?" He half-smiles and I nod.  
  
"Then you can untie me now?" I stand up and lean over him to pick at the knots that hold his hands, finally loosening them enough for him to slip himself free.  
  
Before I know what is happening he is up, with his hand around my throat. He shoves me against the wall, hard wood digging into the bones of my spine.  
  
"You are never, *ever* going to do that again, savvy?" With his face inches from mine, I can feel his hot breath.  
  
I shake my head, trying to draw in air. He squints at me for a moment, and then loosens his grip on my throat.  
  
"Good. Now, you're going to have to repay the favour I gave you last night. That's the other rule." His hand is on my shoulder, buckling my legs, pressing me down onto my knees in front of him.  
  
I am shaking as he looks down at me, but my hands manage the ties on his breeches. He is already hard, and, inexperience aside, I steady his hips with my hands short work of him. A warm flood in my mouth and a groan from above my head and it's over.  
  
As I stand up, I'm blushing again and I can't look at him in the eye. He tugs his trousers back up and we dress, the silence palpable.  
  
I catch him looking at me as I button my shirt, and he throws an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder in an affable hug.  
  
"We're even." He winks at me, which makes me smile despite myself, "now let's go down and see about some rum. We have to start the day off right."  
  
***********  
  
Yes, that is the end and nothing anyone says can make me continue this story any further. I refuse, dammit! I can no longer sustain Will's superhuman level of angst. THE END! 


End file.
